


The Market

by Name1



Series: Moving Forward [7]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cara's perfect breasts-TM, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Romance, Slow Burn, The Look Bean gives them ..., They need a sitter yesterday, Words are hard, angst on angst on angst, bad at feelings, do words actually matter?, gods so slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name1/pseuds/Name1
Summary: “Well, that plan would depend on us being discreet, staying under the radar while feeling out the locals. The problem here is that you can't be discreet with a face like that.” He was touched at her concern with his old clan, but it was his new clan he was more concerned about.She gets a serious look on her face as she removes her right glove before placing the back of her hand against the forehead of his helmet as if taking his temperature, the metal cool against her skin. The visual is utterly ridiculous.“Are you feeling all right in there Din, did you just give me a compliment?”“No, I take it back,” he comes back at her with his serious voice, but he can barely hide his amusement, “your face is perfectly average, ugly even.”
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Moving Forward [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648918
Comments: 40
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm sorry I am so long winded. I wanted this to be shorter but my brain had other ideas.  
> This is in he same timeline as all my other stories in this series (which is now a series-yay!)

She kept feeling his eyes on her over the next several days. It was never obvious, and it was on and off, his gaze fleeting at times and intense at others. The inconsistency of it alone was making her second guess her observational skills. Was she imagining it or was he just being especially broody? _Well, there was one way to find out._

“Are you watching me?” _Why beat around he bush? Get straight to the point._

“Yes, is that a problem? Does it bother you?” _He was honest she’d give him that._

“Nope. Just checking.” She didn’t mind his eyes on her, she just wondered what was behind it.

Din found his gaze drawn to her throughout the day. He had so many thoughts going through his head that he didn’t want to burden her with. He knew if they just talked it out he’d come to some sort of conclusion, but since his troubled thoughts were about her, it wasn’t that easy.

He couldn’t help but think of the bounty on her head and the amazing job she was doing of avoiding the subject entirely. She's damn convincing too; her nonchalance at the whole thing suggesting this new information didn't bother her at all. It bothered _him_ , that was for sure. Not just the threat on her life, but the way in which she was portrayed. “Heartless and cruel” was what they called her. How could they have it so wrong? When everything dies down with the kid and they had some semblance of peace again, he would investigate what it would take to have her crimes washed clean, what it would take to clear her name. Unfortunately, saying alive day-to-day was all they had time to think about at this point.

Sure, she came across rough if you didn’t know her and she was undoubtedly strong as hell, but he had never known her to be _cruel_. She could be intense and focused, but never cruel for the mere sake of inflicting pain.

Din tried to understand where they could have gotten their impression of her from. Perhaps when she had been younger, the acuteness of her grief had caused her to lash out at the enemy in an overly visceral way. Who could blame her? They were at war and her job as to eliminate the enemy, often without support: the very definition of ‘by any means necessary’. She was sent on jobs that would dirty the hands of those higher-ups in the rebellion and then they had the gall to question her methods? What kind of asshats were running that operation anyway? The fact that she managed to not only survive, but personally make the Empire pay for their crimes more than whole platoons of her comrades was impressive. Maybe that made _him_ cruel too.

She was good at what she did; the ideal soldier in their eyes at the time. In the quiet of their bunk, she had once told him she _liked_ it, _liked_ hurting them--anyone even loosely associated with the Empire. The hesitant sound of her voice, questioning if there was something wrong with her, made his heart clench, even before they were as close as they were now. She wasn’t as unaffected by her past as they were trying to portray, hoping to villainize her as incentive for her capture.

What she did in the past didn't matter to Din; all that mattered was just _now_. He too had a checkered past he wanted to forget as well; not only forget, but to _atone for_ , to be better _in spite of_. What was in their past was in the past and the only thing that mattered was who they were now, and who they were becoming side by side. Didn’t it matter that they were better than they used to be?

The added danger that her newly discovered bounty piled on them was not something he could ignore. They were now three known fugitives traveling together, their unconventional clan distinct and eye-catching to onlookers. None of them were inconspicuous, and attention drawn to one would draw attention to them all.

This was in the forefront of his mind when they were choosing jobs now. If she noticed his caution was because of her, she would have his head. She's wasn't no damsel in distress, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass if she caught wind of his protective thoughts overriding the lure of high-paying jobs.

When discussing their options for laying low a while, he let slip that Ja’ar had shown him the picture on her puck. He should have taken more notice of the details and conditions concerning her capture, but he was too mesmerized at the time with the image he saw; how naturally beautiful she was, how _Cara-like_ she was even back then. His only glimpse into Cara as she used to be, not the woman he knew now, almost felt like an invasion of her privacy days after the fact. He had no similar record of himself from years past to share with her to level the playing field. 

“Oh good God! What picture did he show you?” Cara asked, with one hand in front of her mouth.

“Probably your enlistment photo, you had on a green jumpsuit and you didn't have your tattoo yet.”

“Stars, seriously? THAT’S the picture attached to my bounty? They could have at least picked a good one,” she responded exasperatedly.

_Cara and her priorities sometimes…_

“I don't think there's a picture that exists of you that isn't a good one.”

He runs his hand through her hair that’s longer on one side. The casualness with which he touches her now still takes him by surprise sometimes. For a man who went years without touching another person, he is shockingly dependent on touching her now. _He wasn’t even fooling himself. That need had nothing to do with anything as philosophical as the importance of human touch, that was just his draw to Cara._ He had to touch her. He lets the dark strands of her thick hair fall through his fingers as he gets to the ends.

“At least your hair is much shorter in that one; you’ve let it get quite long, so it's not immediately recognizable.

“It _is_ getting really long.”

_Who was he kidding?_ She looked _exactly_ the same; the same smirk hiding just underneath her straight face, the same fire in her eyes, the same confident stance with her shoulders squared off ready for a fight. The only saving grace was that the puck didn’t have her cheek tattoo in the image, one of her most distinct facial features - small miracles on that front. Still, someone was bound to recognize her one day, and then what? Just how widespread was this search? Maybe he should reach out to Karga to gather intel of what was being said among other bounty hunters. Greef seemed to like both himself and Cara and he trusted him to tell them like it was, not sugarcoat things to ease the sting of their shitty reality.

It wasn’t just the Republic’s slander supporting the bounty on Cara that was unsettling him. He had lied to his Uncle’s (Cara’s word, not his) face when he told him he met Cara a single afternoon before they went separate ways. Even though he had the details wrong, Ja’ar’s insinuation he was just interested in getting in her pants didn’t sit well with him. He couldn't help the surge of uncertainty that washed over him at the thought. Was he pushing her too fast? Was she'd just going along with his desperate need to touch her because she cared about him? Did she desire him the way he desired her?

They had been together over a year now, and _together_ for months; the best months of his life _and hers, judging from the permanent smile on her face_. It felt so real, so natural, so easy, that he never thought about the speed at which they were moving. Was it too slow, too fast? He had absolutely no clue what he was doing. He was confident as a warrior and a bounty hunter, but Cara was another matter altogether.

Their slow and natural explorations of each other in the darkness of their bunk gave him more joy than anything he could remember, but was she looking for more than just fumbling in the dark? Commitment wasn’t something they talked about, but he hoped she knew his intentions. Did she ever wish they could be together in the light like everyone else? Did she think this was just fun for him? It all came down to this: Did she want him the same way he wanted her?

He thought she did, but this wasn’t something to get wrong. Sometimes when he would glance at her he would catch her looking at him with so much love in her eyes that he had to swallow down a lump of emotion. He knew better than to call her on it though. She struggled with the words and he didn't want to push her. _Could he be certain though?_ He went back through his memories…..

_He was certain_ when he looked back on their moments sitting together on the floor of the cockpit, side by side with her head on his shoulder. The two chairs were fixed to the floor, so they almost always chose to talk side by side on the floor, savoring the contact between them. He remembered he feel of his hands in her hair the first time she asked him to braid it and the feel of her breath against his cheek the first time he kissed her after. The way she touched him, kissed him was _real_. Of that he was sure. 

_He was certain_ when they were laying together in the dark, quietly talking, laughing, and just touching for hours past lights-out when they should have been asleep. Sometimes they would wake up the kid sleeping at their heads and he would give them his grumpy sleepy face, and they would just snicker and try to be quieter until he fell back asleep.

_He was certain_ when they were sparring and challenging each other, coming up with stupid games to one-up each other without either one losing in the end. Cara could make a competition out of everything, from who could to the most pushups to who could get undressed for bed the fastest. Cara was so surprised and delighted the first time he suggested a game of his own that he kept making up more and more ridiculous ones just to see her smile. Lately their games had taken a more sensual turn, something that both of them seemed to encourage with a shit-eating grin when making up the rules.

Yes, he was fairly certain she truly wanted him, and this certainty emboldened him to some extent. He had tried to share his feelings with her once before, but she had looked so genuinely terrified he pulled back before he could tell her what he thought of them and their blossoming relationship. At least last time he managed to get across how much he valued and admired her. He'd take a different approach next time.

Each time he tried to tell her and failed, he felt like he might be running out of chances--they lived dangerous lives -- a fact he tried not to concentrate on lest he drive himself mad.

He _would_ find a way to tell her without causing her distress, but how? He didn’t want her doubting his commitment if he couldn’t tell her with words. What could he do that would show her he was serious without speaking? What could he share with her that wouldn’t trigger her aversion to talking about feelings?

He tried and failed to come up with something that might speak to her on another level. Was there something she had always wanted that was within his grasp to give her as a token of his affection? _This wasn’t something he could figure out in a day. He would have to think on it…._

At least he knew his old friend had part of it all wrong; it wasn't her pretty face he had fallen for. Right from the beginning, he had felt this connection with her that had nothing to do with her physical beauty, her face or her body, but everything to do with the person she was underneath. He’d find a way to clear her name one day, no matter what it took.

…………………………………………….

After leaving MX14 with nothing more than a shaky lead on the Jedi and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Din had gotten them the hell out of there and hopped to a neighboring system to resupply their food reserves and their ammunition. Large cities that majored in trade, especially black-market goods, gave them the much-needed anonymity they required right now.

As they approached, Dina and Cara used the downtime to get dressed. Changing in the common area had become routine for them by now. Not only was it the largest and most practical place for stretching out and donning/doffing armor, but it meant they could check each other over after jobs with nowhere to hide an injury. Din watched Cara stand up as she pulled the material of her thick green pants up her muscular thighs and fasten her belt. She grabbed her boots from where they rested beside his near the ramp control box and slipped her socked feet into them. She next pulled on her first armored layer over her soft black undershirt before layering her thicker flak vest. Din walked behind her and swept her hair off her shoulder to tie up the straps. Her neck guard and shoulder pieces went on last, interlocking together snugly under Din’s hands, before she finally donned her gloves and vambraces.

Din was next, the familiar trance of putting on his armor disrupted by Cara’s hands distracting him every so often. Once he was suited-up they stood toe-to-toe and began their mutual inspection of each other. The kid sat in the corner watching this process, as he had taken to doing lately. He must have sensed its importance by now, his body sitting perfectly still and quiet for the duration.

They ran their hands down each other’s respective armor. Taking turns, they tested the structural integrity of shoulder guards, vambraces, even the seam of each other’s gloves. They took turns kneeling to inspect thigh guards and the hidden compartments that contained backup weapons and hidden ammo reserves. Lastly, they pulled and thumped on the largest plates covering the back and chest of the other. Cara’s fist landed so hard on his chest that she forced a cough out of him.

“Sorry,” she laughed as she patted him again, much lighter this time, in apology.

“Don’t be sorry, you’re very thorough” he laughed as he said it, “and for the record you hit like a freight speeder even through beskar. Don't ever apologize for being strong, it’s damned impressive.”

She raised her hands to his shoulders to adjust his cowl and the fabric that laid over his shoulders to ensure his cape fell correctly. Finally, her hands (palms open and fingers splayed apart) started at the top of his helmet, and moved their way down, following the natural seams and curves of the sides that fit the slopes of his face. Her caress was unusually soft against the hard steel as she circled him checking the critical piece of armor that kept his face hidden for any damage or wear and tear. She checked the seam where the visor met metal as well as the edges of the seal for any cracking or warping. The reverence she showed his most prized possession, what kept him a Mandalorian in more than just words, still sent a chill through him sometimes. How many people had he come across that were only concerned with removing it, and here she was making sure it would stay _on_ in a fight and not lose its integrity at the expense of his face being bared against his will.

They were getting close to their final approach as they walked to the weapons closet. They each chose a primary hand blaster, a backup, as well several detonators and flash bangs. They grabbed enough extra charges and heavy rifle rounds for a small war -- you could never be too careful these days. The each packed extra lightweight ammunition as well, even though this shouldn’t be much more than a glorified grocery run. They would shop the market together, but always planned ahead for being split up and having to shoot their way back to the Crest. _It’s wasn’t paranoia, it was being prepared. Arm yourself to the nines, and hope you just get to put it all back in the locker at the end of the day._

Cara suggested as they were finishing up, “in addition to looking for leads on the whereabouts of the remaining Jedi, we should also send out feelers to see if there have been any sightings of other Mandalorians in this sector. The Armorer said some likely escaped off world and we might get some intelligence to point us in their direction.”

Din couldn’t help but agree with her, but it was risky to be asking the wrong questions. “I’m not sure if we’re in a position to be asking a ton of questions to strangers and drawing attention to ourselves at this point. Let’s just get in, restock, and get out without getting shot at this time.”

“I think while we’re surrounded by vendors who see hundreds of people pass by everyday, we’d be missing a prime opportunity to gather information. If we get wind of more of your people, it could be a first step in reuniting your scattered clan, I know that’s important to you.”

“Well, that plan would depend on us being discreet, staying under the radar while feeling out the locals. The problem _here_ is that you can't be discreet with a face like _that_.” _He was touched at her concern with his old clan, but it was his new clan he was more concerned about._

She gets a serious look on her face as she removes her right glove before placing the back of her hand against the forehead of his helmet as if taking his temperature, the metal cool against her skin. The visual is utterly ridiculous.

“Are you feeling all right in there Din, did you just give me a compliment?”

“No, I take it back,” he comes back at her with his serious voice, but he can barely hide his amusement, “your face is perfectly average, _ugly_ even.” He knows she can pick up on his tone.

She completely ignores him a she turns to beam at the kid instead.

“Did you hear that Bean, your dad just gave me a compliment.” His little fuzzy ears raise upward at the amused tone in her voice, giving the illusion he was surprised as well. He was just too cute how he responded to her voice. 

“No I didn't, I took it back.” Din argued when it was clear she wasn’t letting this go.

“No take backs, you like my face.”

“That's not what I said.”

“Ok, fair enough, but do you?”

“Yeah, yeah, you _know_ I do. I can barely look at you sometimes you’re so beautiful.”

“Careful Mando, I'm going to end up getting a big head,” she says with a pleased sounding voice. She wasn’t fishing for compliments; she was only trying to mess with him. The word _beautiful_ threw her off as soon as she heard it. She wasn’t expecting him to answer so candidly to her teasing.

“You already know I find you beautiful, and you already have a big head so nothing's changed. Was there a point to this conversation?”

Smiling, she turns her back as she walks over to the storage cabinet for her satchel to sling over her shoulder. She flips him of behind her back with both hands as she walks away, making sure he can see it. Her satisfaction comes a split-second layer when she hears his laughter echoing in the hold. 

“Be careful what your offering with those obscene gestures of yours. I might get the wrong idea.” _Oh, so this was how this was going to go?_

“At that she turned and walked back to him, grin plastered on her face, stopping when they’re standing chest to chest. She yanks hard on his belt to bring their hips together roughly. “I'm hoping you'll get exactly the _right_ idea.” She gets a thoughtful look on her face.

“Maybe you’re right though, perhaps I'm being too subtle. Should I try harder,” _another tug_ , “or is this _hard_ enough?” she teases as she shifts against him purposefully. He shouldn’t find it so arousing the way their armor clanks and rubs together but he does. He’d bet even money she feels the same way if the look in her eyes is any clue.

“You’re as subtle as a hole in the head,” he mutters affectionately. She can hear his breathing changing by the second. He feels his blood rushing already at her proximity, her playful words intending and succeeding in getting a rise out of him. He tilts the chin of his helmet next to her ear and says, “I love your subtlety, but this is _definitely_ hard enough” and tugs hard on her beltloops right back, pulling her hips against his. It's her turn to laugh. 

“Let's go to the market and get back to the ship before were both too tired to do anything other than fall asleep cuddled up like two old fossils. “You got me worked up. You gotta stop being such a tease, Din.”

“You?” his voice is incredulous, " _you're_ the one worked up?" he asks in absolute shock, “what about _me_. I can't walk around the marketplace like this.”

……………….

He looked over at Cara as they walked down the Ramp to lock down the ship. As they started walking in the directing of the tent village, he couldn't help but watch her; Bean perfectly content against her chest in the soft cloth carrier she had fashioned for him. A sling meant they could keep their hands free in case of emergency or just for plain comfort. He wasn’t heavy by any metric, but he could be squirmy and downright disagreeable when he started to get antsy.

He handed her the hooded cloak. Why were markets always on hellish desert planets? She pulled the hood over her head to protect her face from the sun, but he was secretly pleased it helped to hide her face from onlookers as well. Any small changes to their routine that made her less likely to be recognized were important until he could ascertain just how extensive this bounty on her really was. She argued half-heartedly that _he_ was the big shiny beacon that everyone looked at when they entered a room, not her. Secretly, he liked it when he pulled the cloak out of the closet; the last time she had used it was when he shoved it in her arms to cover herself when he stitched her up her shoulder. That was the day when something finally shifted, the beginning of _everything_ , and he'd probably always associate the cloth with that feeling now. 

Their walk into town, was just like countless others they had experienced over the past year. She walked with so much confidence he had to remember she didn’t already own this city. He sees her footprints in the wet sand next to his and remembers a time when he only saw his own solitary footprints on walks such as these. He had lived so much of his life achingly alone, so why was it that he could barely remember those times now with her and the kid beside him? There had been a time he not only accepted his solitary life; he didn’t question it at all. He knew it was the life meant for him. He would die young bringing honor to his clan, aiming for an honorable death as any Mandalorian dreamt of. He never questioned it, just accepted it as a way of life. He had never known anything else, why would he question it? Then he stole the kid and met Cara all in a matter of days and everything changed.

She showed him an easy companionship that he never knew he was missing, but after even an hour in her presence, he was a changed man. He no longer just _accepted_ ; for the first time in his life, he _wanted_.

He can’t help but think back to the early days…………

It had been such an easy transition, her permanent residency on the Crest after months apart. When he returned to Nevarro with no plan other than finding Cara and convincing her to come with him, he worried the change in his living habits would be too difficult for him to cope with, but like everything else Cara touched in his life, it was effortless.

His fear of giving up his freedom: Unwarranted.

The confined space of the Crest seemed brighter, larger, more like a home than any other place he had lived. In fact, he felt freer with her there than alone; free to express himself, free to have opinions-especially when it got him an eyeroll when she disagreed, free to bounce ideas off another person. He felt more free to take risks with her to back him up than when he was alone.

His fear of having to avoid conversations when his introverted nature reared its head: Unwarranted.

She was so easy to talk to and he found himself seeking her out just to be around her. She also gave him his space when she could tell he needed it but stayed close by enough to show she wasn’t upset by his reclusion. He was also surprised by the simple joy that came from enjoying a shared silence; a calming yet intimate time they could just be alone but _be_ _alone_ _together_. He never knew it was possible to spend time alone next to someone else. It didn’t feel lonely at all.

His fear of her using his things, his weapons and his tools, and having to swallow his discomfort to keep the peace: Unwarranted.

It was almost laughable now. She showed his belongings even more respect than he did. She returned everything she used in the same or better condition and even helped him upgrade some of the more tricky or delicate machinery she had experience with. She was never greedy and offered him the use of her belongings as well, meager as they were. Her belongings had slowly multiplied over time, but at the beginning everything she owned could fit in her pack. When referring to the Crest or its supplies she was still reluctant to use any possessive adjectives, even though he encouraged her to say ‘ours’ instead of ‘his’.

Jealousy of the kid preferring her: Unwarranted.

It was true the kid had taken to her with an ease that surprised him, but the kid probably just picked up on Din’s trust in her and trusted her by proxy. He also probably picked up on her goodness and protective streak; he was remarkably intuitive about people at times. It was only after Bean was on the receiving end of her kindness and affection that his own opinion of her formed. Din wasn’t jealous at all. Having two parents was something he had wished for as a child and 2 people instead of 1 that cared for the kid was nothing but a gift. Cara never competed for his attention and loved watching Bean choose Din to hold him. One time early on, Bean crawled into his lap and Cara had simply told him he was a good father. He couldn’t remember a time he was more proud. He was really trying with the kid, but he always felt he came up short, came up lacking. Cara’s casual observation, her confidence in him as a father, such an important tenant of Mandalorian culture, meant everything to him as he got his feet under him with Bean. The only time he ever felt even a slight twinge of jealousy was at bedtime, when the little guy would crawl up Cara’s chest to go to sleep. _He couldn’t fault the kid for that one though._

Fear of putting on his armor in secrecy, an experience that was deeply rooted in meaning for Mandalorians: Unwarranted. 

Her presence by his side when the put on his armor wasn’t an uncomfortable experience he had to suffer through at all. He enjoyed her presence, her running commentary and her hands as she helped him prepare to go hunting. He had done this alone for so long, he never thought it could be a bonding experience. Now, he couldn’t imagine her not gearing-up with him side-by-side, it was his favorite part of the day, _well his second favorite._ It was a wonderfully intimate experience he had never wanted to share with anyone else before. She respected his culture and she wanted him to come back safe, it was as easy as that. _Had he ever had someone care if he made it back to the ship at the end of the day?_

Fear of being shown up by someone or feeling inferior: Unwarranted.

She was a more than capable warrior in her own right so he shouldn't have been surprised that there were few things she didn't excel at. In those few things she didn’t possess a natural ability, she wasn't afraid at putting in the hard work to get there. Besides good-natured competition, she never made him feel like any less of a man or less of a person for that matter. They each had things they excelled at and they both enjoyed learning from the other. They had different styles in everything from fighting, to flying, to negotiating and he enjoyed seeing her perspective and having someone to share his own with.

She cut through his every doubt and fear and insecurity with her unyielding patience, understanding, and humor. _Not to say she couldn’t be extremely hot headed and confrontational when the occasion called for it._ She was non-judgemental about his religion and her natural curiosity tempered their cultural differences until they just seemed more like opportunities for closeness rather than causes for distance. 

……………………………

Her hand was protectively over what little of Bean’s fuzzy head stuck up over the top of the fabric of the carrier. The feeling of so many eyes that could land on him made her uneasy. 

He let her take the lead as they made their first pass around the perimeter of the stalls, getting a feel for how it was organized and what exit routes were available. It was quite a large operation they had going on here, so it took them some time to get a lay of the land.

On the second pass, they divided the list between them and separated just enough to get what they needed. They were never more than 50 feet apart at a given time, always checking in to see where the other one was without revealing they were together. Watching each other’s backs in turns reduced the chance they would be caught unaware.

They were each better at haggling for different types of goods, so they worked their magic separately. Din checked off the last nonperishable items on his list first and staked out a wall to lean against while he kept his eyes on Cara and the kid. She was just casually talking with the vendor at this point and he could help but be impressed how she could turn on the charm when the occasion called for it. When she wanted to, she could harden off her features until nothing was visible through her facade. She could be intimidating as Hell, but here where she wanted something, she let slip a comfortable face despite her discomfort in the crowded market. He could read the unease in her eyes, her stance, the tension in her hand that rested over Bean. He had no clue what she was talking about, but he hoped she wasn’t asking any questions that would make her stand out in anyone’s mind any more than her face already did. At least she kept the hood over her under the pretense of protecting herself from the intense sun. Her distinctive armor and his personal weapons that were now hers as well were also thankfully covered. 

Cara was talking to an older woman who ran a stand of small wooden toys. Why had she possibly stopped there, to get the kid a toy? _There had to be something more._ Din went about his business while discreetly checking on her every few minutes. _Why was she lingering there so long?_

She glanced at the woman's heavy brocade garment which was covered in the busiest floral and geometric print she had ever seen. There were golden beads the size of her thumbnail sewn into the fabric everywhere, making her glint in the light in hundreds of glimmering sparkles. 

Cara walked by the woman’s stall, before doing a subtle double take and a nonchalant about face.

“Excuse me, I wanted to say I like your pin,” Cara said pointedly, speaking carefully and measured, injecting more meaning into the phrase than the individual words would convey on their own. Her eyes easily picked up on the small copper rebel insignia, hidden in plain sight among the other gold beads.

“ _Do_ you now, my dear?” The woman sounded suspicious, fearful even, when she responded. It was hidden in plain sight but no one ever picked up on it.

Cara wasn’t just anyone though; living constantly surrounded by enemies in plain sight trained her vision to hone in on that particular shape anywhere.

“Yes, I certainly do,” she pushed back the fabric from her face just enough, so her tattoo was visible to the woman. _Din was going to be so pissed. He’ll get over it._

All the fear bled out of the woman's face and she lit up with a conspiratorial smirk. 

“What can I do for you _sister_? You can take your pick of whatever you want.” 

“I don't want anything, it just caught my eye. Wanted to see if it was what I thought it was. Though if I'm here I might get a toy for the kid.”

“Yours?” she asked casually.

“Yeah,” Cara answered automatically, looking down at him. _Mine._

“Just a word of warning, your pin is shinier than their other beads, you might want to be careful. You never know who might see it.”

The woman laughed, “I won't cover it up for anything, like you,” as she gestures to Cara’s face. “And it can't possibly be a shiny as the other things around this place….” she said as she looked around to make her point.

“Take for instance those knives, those windchimes in that stall to my left, or even that shiny Mandalorian over there. Haven't seen one of his kind in ages. Have you ever seen one before? It’s quite rare now a days.”

“Only ever once before,” Cara replied playing dumb. “Are they all that flashy? It seems like it's more show than anything else. What, do they just walk around and look intimidating, reflecting the sunlight all day?”

The woman replied evenly, “don't be fooled girl, they're trained as elite warriors and the armor he's wearing, that's pure formed beskar. Nothing can damage it, not even light sabers, or so legend says. You best stay out of his way. He keeps looking over here......I don't want his kind of trouble and neither do you.

_Damnit Din, even other people notice you watching me now._

“If nothing can damage it, how could you possibly shape it? That logic makes no sense,” she quickly tries to distract her. _She almost slipped up and said forge instead of shape ....._

“There are only a few people left who can shape beskar anymore, it's a shame really. It’s such a beautiful metal” the way the woman spoke of the steel struck Cara as odd, but she couldn’t place where her unease stemmed from.

“Do they live here, in this market?” She knows that couldn't possibly be true, but keeps the conversation going just in case. 

“No, the only one I’ve ever heard of lives on Nevarro.”

_Shit._

“Nevarro? That shithole? Why would he live there of all places?” The woman brings her head closer and whispers, “I heard it was a _woman_ , my brother saw her there only a few weeks ago. He works in the space port. He said she was trying to book passage on a ship, but none of the smaller craft fit what she was looking for.”

_Something was wrong._ Why would The Armorer still be there? She said she was only staying to finish salvaging what she could before relocating. She should have left almost a year ago.

“I didn't even know women could be Mandalorians,” Cara continues seemingly intrigued. She's giving it her best shot at figuring out what’s going on here. Din had told her some of the truly asinine rumors he had heard over the years about his people and she was using it to feign ignorance. 

“Yeah, just like Jedi I guess. We always assume they're men, but women can do anything men can do....... probably _better_ and with less whining”

She laughed out loud at that, so loud Din probably picked up on it. “Ain't that the damned truth lady.” 

She continues as the conversation lulls, “I don't mean to pry, but why are you living here, surely you would rather live with other people like us..... There are colonies you know.....for vets. You would be welcomed there.”

“The Republic isn't what the rebellion used to be. The New republic had turned what I fought for into a political farce. There only good thing that came out of it since the Empire fell, was the end of slavery and the genocide of those that could use the force. Since then, force sensitive individuals feel like they can come out of hiding, they can live in the open again. They're no longer persecuted or hunted like animals.

“That kid Skywalker claims to be willing to train anyone who demonstrates the natural ability and temperament to use the force as an implement for good and not a weapon. Guess he's not a kid anymore though,” she says mostly to herself. “You heard of him?”

“Are you kidding me, who hasn't heard of Luke _kriffing_ Skywalker.” They share a laugh.

“You ever met him?” she asks the older woman.

“No, but I was near Yavin when he turned the tide of the war from the base on its little moon. Figured if a dumb farm kid could do something like that, take out that kind of weapon single-handed, I could too. I signed up the next day.”

_She wouldn't let herself get distracted by the weapon she mentioned or her own bitter connection with it._

“So, he's with the new republic officially now?”

“Yeah, turns out his sister is part of the founding governing body. You'd lose your mind just trying to figure out who's who since the charter was signed. Everyone is either related to someone else by blood or bound together by trauma. The interpersonal relationships are enough to drive someone to drink.” Cara decided she likes this woman.

She places 5 credits down on the table. “Can I grab the rattle?”

It was hand carved from a single piece of wood, the three carved beads were whittled away from the same continuous piece of wood and the beads made a hollow, pleasant sound when they rattled together. The edges were wider than the middle so the beads couldn’t be pulled off- no choking hazard. Perfect for the little nugget to chew on and make an absolute racket with. _Din would hate it._ She hands it to the kid’s eager grasp.

“Of course, but it only costs the single credit dear.”

“Consider it an apology then, for me dragging up bad memories. It's been a long time since I saw a pin like that, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Not all old memories are bad ones, I don't mind at all.”

Cara turns to leave and she hears the woman mutter quietly, "may the force be with you."

"And with you,” she says automatically. _How many years had it been since she uttered those parting words? Maybe they needed the force to be with them right now. It certainly couldn't hurt with all the shit they're been wading through lately._

“Take care sister, you and your little one.”

“I will,” she says with both conviction and affection in her voice. The kid coos at her but knows to keep his head covered. _He’s smarter than he lets on._

The woman turns to slip behind the hanging cloth divider at the back of the stall before she turns to Cara at the last second with a wink and a _knowing_ “foundlings are the future,” before disappearing from view.

_What the fuck?_

_Where was Din when she needed him?_

She walks the long way around the market, so they meet up on the far side. Her face lights up when she sees his familiar helmet over the crowd. He's as intimidating as ever; he's in his element here. He looks good like this; armed to the nines, on edge and ready for a fight, ready to throw down at a moment’s notice. _Did it just get hotter all of the sudden?_ She tries and fails to observe him objectively as a stranger would. If she didn’t know him as she does what would he look like? Strong, confident, clever, menacing, well-armed, ready for a fight, but isolated and lonely _. She doesn’t like that last part._ Good thing he’s not lonely anymore; herself and the kid see to that.

She’s glad to know he’s probably grinning under that metal oven on his head right now as she approaches. His voice and his body language always give him away now that she knows how to read him. She tells him about the conversion with the stand owner and all the cryptic comments they need to work through later. She’s not sure what it all means, but it's definitely something. 

“I thought we agreed not to ask too many questions,” he responds playfully to her summary. “Why don’t you run the whole thing over in your head a few more times and well sit down later and outline what me might glean from it in terms of intel.” 

She keeps her bag of munitions and supplies low on her hip so the kid can't grab for it. He slings his own over his back as they set out in search of lunch. Walking side by side with the dangerous, strong, confident woman, he is reminded that the pair of them cut an imposing image: a united front, a team, a family to onlookers. He didn’t mind the wide berth people natural gave them.

She grabs some skewers of cooked meat and two drinks before finding a place to sit down. She hands the second one to him and he pulls out the flexible straw from his utility belt as they stretch their legs out in front of them: a rare moment of peace in such a crowded place. He doesn't miss how her eyes continuously scan the crowd. The extra skewer and other snacks were wrapped up in her bag so he could enjoy it in privacy later.

Since he can’t eat in public, he uses this time to watch Cara and Bean. Her affection for the kid as she touches him, feeds him, and keeps him close is clear as day.

“You managed to get more information that we've gotten in months. How did you pull that off?” Din asks with sincere curiosity.

“I guess I just have a nice face,” she replies

“You already know what I think of your face.” She laughs so free and open he feels like his chest might explode. 

As they start their return journey to the Crest he reaches over and takes her hand as they walk. After they're far away from the town, he takes off his glove and replaces his hand. She follows his lead by taking off hers and their sweaty hands grasp each other’s.

Her resilience and resolve to help him provide for the kid (their kid he says in the secrecy of his mind) still takes him aback some days. Her patience, her confidence, her affection for him, not just in the privacy of their bed, but in public..... it makes him feel warmer than the sun beating down on him right now. The uncertainty, the fear that had previously been haunting him like a ghost, instantly vanished after seeing her face light up at the sight of him when they found each other in the market. 

He feels funny. It can’t be the food, and they shared the same drinks. He catalogues everything in his immediate environment trying to figure out an explanation. He takes in the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her laugh, the sight of her familiar boots in the sand waking in sync with his. He looks up to her face and sees the shape of her shoulders covered in armor beneath his cloak, the blinding sun shining on her impossibly dark hair, making it almost purple with the intensity of the pigment. The way she looks at him when she turns her head, like she’s just happy he's beside her......

She notices him looking at her and the feeling in his chest intensifies when she smirks at him. It’s creeping up his neck and also settling in his stomach. Why is he feeling so weird? They just went on a grocery and ammo run.

He loves this, that’s why. The simple things that used to be trivial are new and thrilling when they do them together.

He loves this life they have made together; how easy it is, yet how strongly they both fight for it.

He never thought he’d have this. He loves this.

He loves _this_.

Not _this_ , _them_.

He loves _them._

He loves _her_.

Oh God, he's said it in his head now.

Those words he wasn’t allowed to voice……… _Shit_.

He couldn’t unthink it now that it had voiced itself. _He loved her._ He wouldn’t deny it even with a blaster to his head. It was easily the simplest and most terrifying thought his brain had ever put together.

What is he supposed to do now?

He glances over at Cara holding a now sleeping Bean, completely oblivious to his epiphany. She smiles at him one of her playful smiles, tightening her grip on his sweaty hand, and Din forgets what he was worried about.

  
Continued in chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if mild sexy time is not your cup of tea, skip the beginning part :)

Hours have gone by since they returned to the Crest without getting shot at even once. It had been a good day.

Groceries and supplies had been put away ages ago, but Cara was going to make them all a snack before going to bed. They were all still full of the street food they consumed, but the kid probably needed something to hold him over through the sleep cycle. The extra portions she grabbed for Din had been finished off as soon as the ramp closed, and he could get to the cockpit where his helmet came off to eat. Cara stayed below with the kid, as was their routine. He appreciated her buying an extra of each item and holding them for him. He’d never really gotten to eat this much street food before.

He came back to sit at the main table to relax a few minutes. The kid was sitting on the floor by their bunk, knowing it was time for bed, but patiently waiting for food. _What a little chunk he was turning into._

“I’m going to clean off the table,” Cara announced as she walked over to the counter, she bends at the waist, knees unbent, to look in the very bottom cabinets. Din looks up from his seat at the common table. _Why would she announce something like that unless she needed his help?_ Once she feels his eyes on her, she arches her back and he instantly knows her intent. She’s folded in half with her head at the level of her knees, her hands holding the edge of the counter. His eyes are naturally drawn to the perfectly round shape of her ass as she puts more weight on her back foot to make the seam of her pants pull impossibly tighter around her curves. _Her thighs are going to kill him one day._

“What are you doing?” he asks innocently, as if he was asking about the weather.  
She holds her position, remaining perfectly arched as she turns her head to the side to look back at him, “What do you mean” she asks, looking around her knee to meet his eyes.

  
“You know _exactly_ what I mean,” he says, already into whatever she’s up to, “I feel like we’ve had this talk about subtlety before.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just looking for the bottle of all-purpose cleaner we put away so I can wipe down the table.” She pauses with a smirk creeping up her face, “why…………? what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Trying to drive me to distraction.”

She can only see the metal of his helmet, but his grin is so obvious it’s infectious.

The smile on her lips belies her voice when she says, “you’re imagining things, I’m just looking in the cabinet.”

  
“Uh huh....that's how we're playing this?” his suspicion clear in his voice. _He can play this game too._ “Well then, I need to look for something too. I'm just going to get down that extra spool of wire to fix those stripped lines in the fuse box. Don’t worry I can reach around you, you don’t need to move.”

She feels a thrill go through her as she hears his stand and walk up behind her.

He puts his hand on her hip as he reaches over her to the cabinet above her. “Don’t mind me, I just need to reach above you for the wiring kit and the soldering iron”

He shifts behind her, “Where is it, I thought it was right here?”, he says under his breath and he presses up against her backside, pushing firmly against her to reach toward the top shelf to rummage around half-heartedly.

Cara is the one to call his bluff, anything to get his hands on her “Exactly how long are we going to pretend to look for stuff?”

“Until you admit that you were putting on a show?” He says still nestled firmly against her backside, leaning heavily into her now.

“I might fess up to that if you admit that you liked it.”

He pushes against her more deliberately, “can’t you feel how much I liked it?”

“Yes,” she breathes out on her next exhale. _Ok game’s over. He won. Point for him._

He presses the entirety of his body against the length of the back of hers. They are both frozen, pushed so close together there’s not enough space between them for even light to get through. He loves the way her body molds to his. She’s soft everywhere he’s hard and curvy everywhere his body is flat planes. They fit together so perfectly. The feel of her muscles shifting under her soft skin is the only exception. How can she be so strong and so soft at the same time?

“So, who’s going to move first Din? You might not be aware of this, but I have a slight competitive streak.” 

That got a genuine laugh out of him, “ _No_ , _you don’t say_.”

He’s trying to follow the conversation but he’s distracted by the feeling of her pressed up against him and the loose tank top she’s wearing shifting every time she moves to reveal a different sliver of pale skin.

“I also don’t back down from a challenge, and this is starting to feel an awful lot like a challenge.”

“Yeah I noticed that when you faced down an AT-ST with just a rifle and a smile on your face.”

“In my defense, it was a pretty good rifle.”

“So, what are the rules,” Din asks, ready to get this show on the road.

“Rules? I’m not sure I know what you mean, I was just trying to reach a bottle in the back of the bottom cabinet.” She can barely keep the smirk off her face. 

“Should I go turn off the lights so I can take this off my head while we look for this elusive spray bottle?”

“I could feel your eyes on me all day. You like watching me, so keep it on. 

As a matter of fact, I _want_ you to watch me.” _Doesn’t she know what her words do to him?_ _Fuck._

“First one to say ‘please’ loses. Sound good?” _Fine, he’ll set the rules this time. He’ll do anything to get his hands on her._

“Yeah, sounds good.” She would play this game with him. She was into this 100%. Truly playful Din was a rare form, a man not weighed down by the stress and responsibility of day to day life as a clan of 3 fugitives on the run. She would play whatever game he wanted if it meant his voice sounded so happy and carefree, not to mention aroused. _Game on._

“If I even have a chance of winning I have some ground rules.....” He states, like he was haggling earlier in the marketplace.

“No moaning” he says seriously, like he’s thought of this before. _She laughs._ “Moaning is immediate grounds for forfeiture.” She nods, before agreeing, “no moaning, got it.”

“Anything else?” she asks as she smirks, her top teeth folding the corner of her bottom lip under them.

“Yeah, _that_ ,” he gestures to her mouth with his finger. “you can't bite your lip like that.”

“Okay my turn, you can't take that thing off your head or kiss my neck, and you have to look at me the whole time, you can't close your eyes or look away.”

“You wouldn't know if I –" he starts to argue before she cuts him off.

“Bullshit, I'd know. Keep ‘em open. Every morning we have the lights off and I want you to see me when you put your hands on me.”

“I should have come up with better rules, I don’t have a chance in hell.” Din says in such a helpless voice she feels like the most desired woman in the galaxy.

“Too late now hotshot. Touch me,” she practically purrs. “And for the record _that_ wasn’t a moan.”

His hands are resting on her hip bones, pulling her up to stand firmly back against his chest. He’s shamelessly hard now, the feel of her too much for him to fight. She rests her head back against his shoulder, when he looks down at her he can see the long elegant stretch of her neck as she arches her head back. She turns her head to rest against the base of his helmet and he leans into the contact. Her breath is against his neck, hot and wet, and his hands start to move up her abdomen, sliding across the firm muscle of her flat stomach, barely ghosting over the surface of her shirt.

“I said touch me, don’t tease me,” she growls at him. _Don’t moan Cara, don’t moan. She has to keep reminding herself or she’ll forget._

“You going to say please?” Din asks hopefully, hoping he’ll be put out of his misery at her surrender.

“Not a chance Djarin,” she gasps. Her grin is brilliant. _She is so fucking into this._

His senses are overwhelmed. He never gets to see her face or her body when he touches her. He can see her squirming and shifting underneath his hands trying to get them to apply pressure where she wants. He tugs her back against him where her back has started to arch away, so she can feel what seeing her like this is doing to him. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, the pressure her backside provided was more than he could deal with while keeping a clear head.

He pushed back against her as he tried to adjust himself.

“Ugghhhh,” escapes her mouth before she can censor it. 

“That was close to a moan, Dune.” He says dangerously, goading her.

“Trust me, you’ll know it when I moan.” That sounds so much like a threat and a promise he can’t tell which one he prefers.

“The whole galaxy will know when I make you moan, that’s a promise” His hands ran further up her stomach, over her shirt, until they slide up her chest. He palmed over her breasts only to discover she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her gin was so big now her cheeks must be getting sore. “What? Is there a problem?” she asked so innocently he barked out a rough laugh, shaking his helmet fondly.

“You _ know_ what. You don’t play fair.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Playing?”

Her breathing picked up as he kneaded her soft flesh the way he knew she liked. However, _watching_ his hands pleasing her almost took him over the edge. The visual was too intense for him, he had to look back her face. Looking down, seeing her full soft breasts filling his hands was too much.

His only recourse was refusing to go anywhere near the places she was the most sensitive.

“Come on,…….” she practically begged him without saying _that word_ that would end the game. She was onto him though. He was strategically keeping his hands from where she wanted them the most. _That clever asshole…._

“You’re not going to ask nicely?” he asks as he allowed his fingertips to brush across her hardened nipples clearly visible through the thin material of her shirt.

“I hate you so much right now,” she manages to grind out between her clenched teeth.

“You admitting defeat already? You must be getting soft.” His voice is so amused, she finds herself smiling along with him at this taunt. She could withstand his relentless teasing for a while longer if she got to hear him this pleased with himself more often.

“There is absolutely nothing _soft_ about what’s going on right now,” she rocks back onto him mercilessly.

“Din, come on…” she breathes. It’s not a moan but God it's so close his head gets fuzzy. She can feel him tense up the precise moment her voice registers.

_Time to pull out the big guns then._

“Din, did I ever tell you about about the first time I saw you take off your gloves? It was after you spilt my lip when we were sparring in that field on Sorgan.” She’s breathing so heavy now. He’s breathing heavy along with her, watching her chest heaving against his bare hands is dangerous.

“You remember? She asks. She needs his participation for this to work.

“Yeah, I remember. I felt bad about that, it bled a lot. There was so much blood in your mouth I took them off so I could make sure I didn’t crack one of your teeth.”

“It was a clean hit, I left myself open. I was impressed. More than impressed, actually. You landing that hit instead of pulling your punch made me so fucking hot.”

She heard him swallow.

_Yes. This was her about to win this game he started. She almost felt bad for him, but they were both going to enjoy this so everybody wins._

“Did I ever tell you that later that night I couldn't sleep because I was so worked up seeing your bare hands, feeling them on my face? Do you want to know what I did to get some relief?”

He remembers that night clearly, he had thought of her as he relieved his own tension.

He wanted to say ‘No’, he knew exactly what she was doing to him, but he wanted to hear it anyway. Who was he kidding, he _needed_ to hear this.

“That depends, is this just talk to get me worked up or is it the truth?”

“Oh Din, it's all true. I've never lied to you, I’m not going to start now, _not about this_. I could barely look at you or your hands the next day after that night.” 

“The night air was so hot my skin was practically on fire, I was crawling with tension and I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stay still I was so restless. I just laid there tossing and turning thinking about your damn hands. How they looked, how they felt, how you touched me when you brushed against my mouth. The only thing that worked to take the edge off was when I touched myself. I let my hands go where they wanted, and the whole time I pretended they were _yours_. That you were there in my bed touching me.

“Do you want to know how I touched myself pretending they were your hands? The path they took, where they stopped and lingered, how they touched me? You want me to show you how thinking of you got me off?”

“Yes, _Fuck_ ” _Fuck this game, he was totally gone at this point. He already forgot what he was supposed to say to lose on purpose_. _Was it ‘please’ or “blurrg’ or ‘speeder’? He couldn’t even remember._

She took his left hand and ran it across her lips, taking the tip of one finger into her mouth to run her tongue along it. “I thought about how your bare hand touched my mouth, my lips. I imagined that your hands moved down here, she takes his hand and places it against her breast again. “But when I touched myself it was like this,” and she peeled the loose straps of her tank top down so she could pool the material around her waist, exposing her sensitive skin to the cold air and his hungry eyes. The only source of heat was the scalding heat of his palms as he covered her exposed chest with his hands. She encouraged him to touch her like he already knew she liked, but he had never seen her naked body bare before him. His usually confident touch faltered every time he caught a glimpse of her amazing cleavage as her back arched and how the weight of her full breasts shifted and strained against his hands as he squeezed them together like she had shown him to make her eyes roll back. Having never seen her pale skin under his bare hands, watching her reactions as he squeezed and fondled her so gently was getting him aroused almost to the point of discomfort.

He had never seen the light freckles than sprinkled across her chest like stars and the beautiful dusky rose color of her nipples that he would never get out of his head. He would find that color everywhere he looked now. He had never seen anything as erotic as this moment and her face was the tipping point; her head was leaned back against his shoulder heavily now, her eyes closed, and her smile was gone, replaced by her open mouth breathing heavily. He had never seen her face when he touched her before, and her response aroused him just as much as her touch.

She caught a glimpse of his hands on her too and it was overwhelming for her as well. His hands were greedy as he palmed her hungrily. Finally touching her nipples was all it seemed to take to make her gasp. She was just as affected by this as he was. Discovering each other in the light with his helmet on was not something he ever thought about; he had been so content with their explorations in the dark, but how could he have ever gone without seeing her face as he touched her, as she arched into his hands seeking pleasure from him? _How could they find a way to do this again?_

“Is that all you imagined that night?”

“Gods no, I also imagined your hands here as she lowered his right hand to the edge of her loose sleeping pants. She used her hand to encourage his own under her waistband and under the edge of her thin boyshorts, touching her _like this, there_ for the first time. As soon as his fingers slid through her wetness, her moan and the feel of her knees giving out hit him like a sledgehammer, throwing him over the edge of reason.

_Fuck it._ “ _Please_ , there I said it, happy now? _Please_.”

“I moaned first, I already lost. Come on Din, you won, what are you waiting for?”

He made the mistake of looking at her again, her gorgeous breasts completely exposed as her shirt was shoved down to her hips, his hand disappearing into the waist of her pants up to his wrist, how easily his fingers slid through her slickness as he curled them against her and watched her writhe. Her hips pushed back to grind against his and he was lost. It was too much; the sight, the feel of her under his fingers, her heat, her voice. As if sensing his thoughts, she turned her head and started kissing and biting at his neck with reckless abandon.

“Come on you going to leave me hanging here? Finish it, come on. _Please_ ” Her voice was totally wrecked.

“Bed now, lights off, I need to kiss you.” He didn’t even remember saying the words, that’s how dissociated his brain was from his body by now.

“I want to argue for you to keep the helmet on--watching _you _watching _me_ is so fucking hot, but if I don’t get your mouth on me in the next 10 seconds I might die.”

They stumble to the bunk and pull open the curtain still wrapped up in each other, ready for one of them to end up on their back, only to startle when the kid is sitting on their pillow staring at them with his big dark eyes.

“Oh, for the love of……………” They both vocalize almost the same sentiment at the same time.

_Did all kids have this 6 th sense to invade any moment of privacy with the worst timing or was it just this one? They both sobered up in a hurry. This was becoming a routine now. They needed a sitter, ‘yesterday’._

“Well I’ll give him this, he’s a more effective contraceptive than any 5-year implant, and sooo much cuter, isn’t that right Bean?” she ends talking directly to the kid. Bean’s ears raise up at the perceived compliment. She barely hears Din’s grumbled words about not needing any contraceptive if they can never manage to even get their pants off, and chuckles at his amused frustration as clear as her own. The kid is just so happy to see them that his smile is infectious though.

“I call dibs on the ice-cold shower,” she says as she gestures to the kid while looking at Din, “this here is all you, he’s probably hungry before bed. You put him down, then we’ll switch so you can grab a shower too.”

“Why don’t we just take that cold shower together?” He’s obviously not as calmed down as she thought.

She laughs but her face is so full of affection. “I don’t think it’ll have the same effect, but good try.” She laces her fingers with his and promises, “maybe next time with hot water instead?”

The kids chirps at them grumpily when he sees their entangled hands and registers the change in the pitch of their voices.

“Okay, Okay, I’m going. Don’t worry kid, he’s all yours for the next 10 minutes.”

Din looks down at the happy and totally oblivious look on his son’s face and sighs, “You and me gotta have a talk kid….”

……………………………………

Days later they are putting together their list of potential leads and comparing them to the star charts to get a sense of where their journey will take them next. Cara didn’t _watch_ Din, that’s ridiculous. She casually observed him at best. She didn’t even need to watch him for more than a few moments to notice the tightness of his shoulders. The shot he took to his ribcage was healed for the most part, but the skin must have healed tightly to explain his careful movements days later. The slight hunch of his shoulders would have been unnoticeable to an outsider; he was good at holding himself tall and proud, not projecting an ounce of weakness or injury. In the privacy of the ship however, he let his guard down just a little. He was like her though, never wanting to admit weakness, but if he angled his chest anymore inward, he would be walking hunched over. She had been privileged enough to have held his helmet in her hands in the darkness of their bunk or the flight deck and she knew it was of considerable weight. Though years of wearing it had built up the muscles of his neck and shoulders to compensate, when he sat like that, leaning over slightly, she couldn’t help but see how the extra weight pulled at his tense neck. Sitting at the table looking at star charts only highlighted his discomfort from not being able to straighten properly.

The hyperdrive was engaged and they were so far in deep space they wouldn’t come across another lifeform for days. This meant they got to spend time in their soft comfortable clothes; he looked so relaxed with the helmet against his bare neck and a soft shirt underneath. She even saw him with his shirtsleeves rolled up like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes feasted on the color of the skin on his arms. The hair on their surface held her attention in a way she would be slightly embarrassed to have discovered. She watched the shift and pull of his muscles underneath the skin. _Since when had forearms become so incredibly sensual?_

He was supposed to be pouring over these maps to chart their next course, but Din couldn’t shake the memory of her suggesting turning herself over to either of the entities that wanted to capture her. The thought of her turning herself in, losing her not through death, but by her choice made him so angry he couldn’t think straight. _What the hell was going through her head?_ _Was this just her response to fear, taking control of the situation the only way she could?_

Things between them were moving so fast and yet at a snail’s pace. Every milestone they shared was permanently emblazoned in his memory, but he was selfish. He wanted _more_. He wanted to _give_ her more. The familiar uncertainty reared its ugly head. Were they moving too slow? Was she expecting more, but tolerating him being so cautious? Or was it the opposite, was he pushing her with his desperate need to be close to her to grow closer still. Did she want to slow down? He had no idea what he was doing and no real way to tell if he was going about this the right way at all. He figured if he fucked up too badly, Cara would let him know with a well-aimed knee. There was still so much they hadn’t experienced together. What would he do if she insisted on turning herself in? He would never take her free will away, her own autonomy, but he couldn----

“Hey,” she said, starting him as she walked up behind him sitting in the chair still bent over the table “You’re holding your neck weird. The scar tissue from that burn on your ribs must be restricting your movement, you going to deny it?”

“No point in denying it. You’re way too perceptive sometimes.”

“Can I rub your shoulders, your neck?”

“Umm sure, yeah okay.” He had never had anyone rub his neck before. He never trusted anyone that close to the edge of his helmet.

“What if I run my fingers up the back of your neck and see your hair? I don’t know how far it ends from the base of the helmet.”

“It’s just the face you can’t see, you know that.”

“I don’t want to misstep and make a mistake that can’t be rectified.”

“You won’t. I’ve never had anyone rub my neck before though. Does it help? I’d think it would just make it worse by causing more inflammation and swelling the more you poke at it.

“Not if I’m gentle, dummy.”

“Ok, then.”

He turned his head away and straightened his back in front of her.

She placed her hands, one on each shoulder before lightly running just the pads of her fingers across his broad shoulders and up the visible length of his neck. She swept them back down again and on the next pass placed the full length of her fingers on his skin running into the edge of his soft collar. In the next pass her palms were flat against him, so warm, as she swept them over him is gentle circles.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, it feels good”

“You want me to rub deeper? How bad does it hurt?”

“You can go harder, you won’t hurt me as long as you don’t snap my neck.”

“Keep running your mouth and I might be tempted.” She quipped back at him. _She couldn’t help herself._

“You love my mouth.” He came back at her equally fast.

“You’re not helping your case here Djarin.” _She couldn’t argue with him though._

She placed her hands so that her fingers rested near his collar bones and her thumbs kneaded the thick muscles on the back of his shoulders. She squeezed rhythmically, progressively harder with each pass and was shocked to feel how tense his muscles were, they were like knots. “Can I go harder? You’re in knots.”

“I trust you, do what you think will feel good.”

She rubbed and kneaded until she felt the knots start to loosen. When she used her elbow to dig into the now loosened muscles of his shoulders, he let out a moan that went straight to her head. She alternated between her thumbs and deeper pressure from her elbows until he was so relaxed she though he might have fallen asleep.

She walked her fingers up the tense line of muscles lining both sides of his neck. She used her thumbs to work small circles into his skin as his stress melted away. His head tipped forward and she realized how much more of his neck was being neglected.

“Hey Din, you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I reach my fingers up under the edge of this thing” as she gave him a light thump at the bottom edge. “I’ll close my eyes, if you’re worried about me seeing your hair.”

At this he laughed, “I told you it’s ok if you see my hair Cara, but thank you for asking first, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

With his head pitched forward she had the perfect angle to work her fingertips up under the edge of his helmet to reach the neglected muscles in his neck. 

He was nervous and he couldn’t explain why. This was _Cara_. Was he worried she would be disappointed? He found himself filling the silence, “I’ll go ahead and ruin the mystery, it’s brown; not as exotic as you were hoping for probably.”

“You’re plenty exotic.”

As she ran her fingers back down his neck, some of the longest curled edges at the nape of his neck were brought down alongside her fingers.

She stopped moving.

The curls were brown.

He had brown hair.

It was so …… so _brown_.

He had just told her in words not 10 second before, but nothing could have prepared her for what it was like seeing it with her own eyes. In all their nights together huddled together in their bunk, their morning kisses that turned to moments of passion more often than not, she had never once seen a glimpse of his hair. In the dark she had touched it, ran her fingers through it, clutched it as she grew desperate for his mouth, and brushed it from his face when they were both left gasping and sweat soaked, but she had never seen it.

It was just hair; she couldn’t explain the sudden wetness in her eyes that made the room blurry.

“Well?” He asked hesitantly and maybe a little self-consciously.

“You’re right, it’s brown.” She wasn’t sure she could safely manage any more words without embarrassingly let slip how affected she was by this piece of him she never realized how much she wanted to see. It was beautifully and amazingly ordinary.

_This was dangerous_ , Cara thought to herself. She already had more than enough of him, best not wish for more. She wasn’t afraid that she would be let down, but rather afraid Din would blindly give her what she asked for without pausing to realize what he was giving up until it was too late. She could never live with herself if he broke his creed for her. Whatever he thought of her, that was not what she wanted.

“Do you need to reach higher?”

His face is still turned completely away from hers, his head leaning toward his own lap with how far he’s bent over so she can access his neck.

He reached up, one hand on each side of the helmet and starts to slide it upward as she lunges for his head to push it back down.

“Din! The Lights! Wait a goddamned second!” He can feel her scramble to move to the control panel, but he stops her by reaching out for her wrist.

“I _want_ the lights on, I’ll keep my head turned. You deserve to see my hair at least after everything we’ve shared.”

“You don’t _owe_ me anything, don’t be ridiculous. What you look like doesn’t matter to me, you know that right?”

“I know, but _this_ is something I can show you that no one else has seen. It’s probably the only thing I can give you that doesn’t go against the creed.”

“Are you doing this for me, or for you?” She wasn’t sure which answer would terrify her more.

“For me. I trust you though, I want you to know me like you’ve let me know you. If you don’t want to I understa-“

“Of course I do,” she cuts him off before he misunderstands her, “I just don’t want this to be some kind of misguided gift you give me that ends up with you losing a part of yourself. This is _dangerous_. I’m perfectly happy with how things are, you don’t need to push yourself.”

“I thought you liked dangerous,” he says playfully but she’s not budging. She must actually be worried about this.

“I’m not pushing myself Cara. It feels natural, really.”

“Only if you’re sure and only if this is for _you_.”

She has to fight the urge to close her eyes, it’s been so engrained in her it’s almost a natural reflex now. When you submerge your head underwater you hold your breath; there’s no thought process, no effort. You don’t think about it, your lungs just know what to do. It’s become such a instinctual part of living, you can’t make your body override it, even if you wanted to. She feels like she’s forcing herself to take a breath underwater.

She forces herself to keep her eyes open, even if she averts the slightly in response to the helmet being lifted up. It’s almost Pavlovian at this point to avoid looking above his neck.

“Well?” he asks. She can hear the self-consciousness in his voice.

It brings her back to the present. She focuses her eyes on the expanse of his back, _that’s safe_. Her eyes move upwards until they see his brown of the hair on his neck and then she allows herself to look at the back of his head in the light. He’s right, it’s so _brown_ , so _warm_ , so….. _messy_. The curls are exactly what she imagined with how often her fingers ran through them, but also better somehow. His hair is slightly sweaty when she runs her hands through it. He has the most absurd cowlick, the hair swirling in a circular pattern near the crown of his head that she can’t take her eyes off of. She feels the shudder work its way through him as her fingers rake across his scalp. She had to keep her feet cemented to the floor; she was just inches away was his face, his bare face; leaned over still, but wonderfully uncovered. She would never betray him and stretch her neck to try to sneak a peak, but she felt a rush of shame at the one second she thought about it.

She felt sick at her own thoughts. He was trusting her with the most important part of himself, trusting her not to break his trust, and some sick part of her wanted him to turn around anyway. _She hated herself for the first time in a long time. The last time she hated herself like this as during the war._ She was better than _this_. She would be better for _him_.

She was pulled back to the present as she noticed he was still sitting perfectly still, obviously waiting for her assessment of him.

“I like your hair.” _How had she been reduced to such simple sentences?_

She had no way of knowing the internal battle that he was experiencing. His face was uncovered in the light and Cara was touching him, her face only inches from his own. How easy would it be to turn quickly before she even registered the motion so he could catch her eyes unshielded just for a split second? Would it be worth it to look into her eyes if only for an instant, to throw away his soul in the eyes of his people for just a glance at her open face upon his? _Yes, absolutely_. He could live with that. What he could not live with would be the shame and guilt that would plague Cara because of his actions. She would always blame herself for not looking away fast enough, for not forecasting his movements as he turned. He couldn’t do that to her.

She surprised him by resting her face against the base of his neck and simply staying still, breathing her warm breath on the nape of his neck, her forehead pressed against the softness of his hair, the ends curling more as they dried in the air. Her nose and her face rubbed against the sweat slicked hair at the back of his head. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, not knowing when, if ever, she would get to be this close to him again in the light.

She rubbed her hands back down his neck, but she couldn’t bring herself to move her face from the back of his head. _How could she get any closer to this man without crawling inside him?_

“You feel better?” She asks, trying to lighten the mood to let him know everything’s okay, to allay his fears.

“Yes, and the massage was nice too.” _Good, they were just fine._

“We shouldn’t make a habit of this,” she said seriously, with a hint of sadness.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not as strong as you seem to think I am. It’s too hard to be this close to your bare face.”

“You’re closer to my bare face every night.”

“That’s different. There’s no temptation, no chance I’ll slip up and ruin everything.”

His silence is deafening. Did she say the wrong thing? That would be so typical of her big mouth.

“I’m going to turn to face you, okay?” Giving her plenty of warning as he broadcasts his intentions.

He slowly turns his face to be met with her face perfectly still, her eyes shut tightly.

He lowers his head and kisses her softly on her mouth, his warm lips pressing against hers a few seconds too long to be considered chaste. His hands reach up to frame her face as he kisses her again. This kiss feels different from all of those that came before it.

_Something is shifting again. This feels like it did before, months ago when they were both standing on the precipice of something more; their feet balanced on the edge right before they leapt._

“I trust you”. How much more he wants to say in this moment; he hopes she understands everything else he’s not saying, everything that is implied by this exact phrase uttered at this exact moment in time. The words he wants to tell her are on the tip of his tongue. _How hard would she punch him if he just said them anyway? Probably pretty damned hard._

She laughs, “I know you do, but I don’t trust myself. You are harboring under the illusion that I’m some kind of good person; that I’m strong enough and selfless enough to resist looking at you.”

“I trust you.” He simply repeats, like that explains everything.

“Din, I don’t need to see you. I’m…..,” she stumbled over the right word, “ _humbled_ that you want to share this with me but I don’t need to see your face to be happy.”

The future that he wants to have with Cara doesn’t depend on her bounty and the uncertainty that comes with it, the search for the kid’s people, or her inability to speak 3 specific words of endearment. They can get through all of those things, _together_. It all really comes down to one question:

“Do you ever wish I wasn’t a Mandalorian?” _There it was. The question he always wanted to ask her but never gathered the courage to._

“NO! she responds hotly, before she can dampen her shock at his question. She tries again, more calmly this time, “No, not _ever_ , not _once_. What would make you think that?”

“Not even once? _This_ has to bother you, the distance we have to keep between us, the beskar?” He gestured where his helmet usually rested, though her eyes were still closed and his face uncovered.

“There is no distance between us, stop being stupid!” She practically yells at him as she gestures to his face again, her eyes still tightly closed. She’s quieter when she continues, “ _This_ _is you_. Can’t you feel how close we are right now? You really don’t feel it?” She almost sounds desperate in her certainty, her _need_ for him to see this from her point of view. He never wants to hear her desperate again, for as long as he lives. _Cara is anything except desperate._

“Of course I feel it. I feel it with every sense I have. I’m not questioning that. But you can’t see my face and I wish I could give that to you. I think about it a lot….the things I can’t give you” He hesitates before continuing, “if I was someone else….”

She cuts him off- “If you were someone else, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“It would be _easier_ if I wasn’t----it would be easier if I was like you ………………”

“Easier? Fuck easier! Since when has anything worth fighting for been easy?” _She’s angry now. How dare he say it would be easier if he was someone else?_

“What we have now works. It’s worked from the very beginning, both of us being only who we are. I don’t want you to change for me Din, ever. 

It doesn’t matter what you look like, I _know_ you, I _ see_ you every day. I could go the rest of my life without ever seeing your face and not feel like I missed out on a single thing.”

He didn’t seem convinced. He was just quiet.

She tries again, “Okay, following our own logic, you must wish I was a Mandalorian then? Are you disappointed that I’m not? I’ll swear the creed if you ask me to.” _She meant to say it to get a rise out him, but as the words left her mouth, she realized with only a modicum of terror that she meant it. If it would make him happy, make his choices easier, lighten his burden, she would say the words to share his way of life tomorrow._

“What? no!” he replied vehemently, “of course not. You don’t get to be stupid either!” _That was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. She was perfect the way she was._

“But Din, “she argued, throwing his logic back at him, “It would be _easier_ , your own words, not mine. No language barrier, no cultural differences, no having to explain principles to me that even children among your people know from childhood?”

She continued, “It would be _easier_ if we were more alike, you just admitted it……………..”

“No! You are perfect the way you are. I don’t want you to change for me at all.”

“Exactly” she says confidently, shoving a finger hard into his chest hard enough to force him half a step back. Now you know how I feel.”

He lets out a contemplative huff, signaling he got her point. He just has to make sure one more time. “How can you be okay with this? Long-term?”

She managed to dampen her panic at that term. She could see he was struggling. She took a breath. _She could do this._ _This wasn’t about her. She could put some terrifying words together for him._

“Because I want you long-term. That’s it.

“This just works Din. And it will keep working as long as we want it to. It’s not as hard as you worry that it is.”

Those words coming from her made his heart speed up. This was the closest to a declaration he was likely to get from Cara Dune and knowing what it cost her to say it turned everything around. He pulled her into his chest, his arms wrapped around her.

She wasn’t done though. Her face is turned away from when she quietly questions him, “Tell me, what could seeing your face give me more than this moment, all the moments we’ve shared, the wonderful things we’ve experienced together? How could looking in your eyes possibly be better than the comfort of your voice, the sound of your laughter when I make a bad joke, the warmth of your arms right now?”

Din responds, his voice heavier than usual as he responds, “I don’t know. Since when did you become such a philosopher?” He takes a breath. “You know, you’re not nearly as bad with words as you seem to think you are.” _He can’t tell her what her words meant to him now, but he will remember them for the rest of his life._

She snorts into his clavicle, her hands holding fistfuls of his shirt. “Oh shut up...”

His collar is slightly damp where her face was. He bends so he can touch their foreheads together.

Din’s head is touching hers when he softly mutters “But seriously, thank you for putting up with my shit.” 

“That's okay, I'm pretty sure you deserve a fucking trophy for putting up with _mine_.” Cara responds. She really _is_ glad he’s seen through her many failings and still sees something good in her.

“Maybe just a little one, or at least a ribbon or a commemorative plaque,” he agrees in response, the teasing evident in his voice.

“Oh, you wanted to hear how good I am with words? I got some _real_ _sweet_ words for you right about now asshole…........”

“I don’t know if my _delicate_ ears can handle it, you curse worse than a drunken smuggler.”

They’re both shaking slightly with laughter as they cling to one another.

They simply hold each other for a long time after their chuckling dies down.

A moment passes in utter stillness before he disrupts the silence by hesitantly suggesting, “maybe the only one who questions the helmet is me.”

“Now, who’s the philosopher?”

“Shut it Dune. We were having a moment.”

“There’ll be lots more, don’t worry about it.”

They’re both smiling after talking about feelings. _Who would have thought?_ _Maybe this wasn’t so hard after all_ , she thought to herself. Maybe next time she’d manage more than a few clumsy sentences that merely highlighted her inexperience and discomfort putting herself out there. Din seemed to appreciate her pitiful yet sincere attempt and that was all that mattered. She’d gladly make a complete fool of herself for that man if it made him happy. _What did that mean? Probably a whole other short string of words she couldn’t manage yet, but it didn’t mean she didn’t think them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for hanging in there with me.  
> Please leave me a comment if you enjoyed :)
> 
> thanks for reading, lovely people


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